


Inconvenient

by Atilol



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Force Choking, Not a Real Position on Starkiller, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Pre-TFA, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, You get choked a lot, but it's worth it, force-choke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:09:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13011363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atilol/pseuds/Atilol
Summary: All you wanted to do was your job. Feeding everyone on Starkiller Base wasn't easy, but you always made it happen. It's kind of your whole thing. But when General Hux reassigns your quarters and it somehow results in you pissing off Kylo Ren, you don't know how you'll ever get yourself out of the hot water you landed yourself in. Maybe you can make tea with it.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kassanovella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassanovella/gifts).



Your face was going numb. You peeled your cheek off the frigid viewport, checking the time on your datapad. It was either very early, or very late – depending on how you spun it - either way, you should have been asleep hours ago. Tossing the datapad down with an irritated clatter, you pulled the wide hood of your sweatshirt up around your ears, drawing your legs up to your chest and into the crook of your arms. 

It was so unfair. Your job was supposed to be simple.

Pressing your face listlessly once again against the viewport, you sighed, looking out at the vast assembly of stars, glimmering all those millions of miles away. The vast sense of unmitigated awe that usually filled your chest at the sight of the sheer enormity of space was absent – you may as well have been looking at the wall. You were exhausted. Even though you needed to be up for work in a few hours, you were steadfastly avoiding your quarters. Your new quarters. And you were avoiding them because of work in the first place. 

It really wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. Nonetheless, ever since General Hux had moved your quarters to the same wing of the vessel as him, things had not been simple in the slightest. You resisted the urge to bang your head against the glass as another wave of frustration rolled through your chest. 

You were the Lead Nutrition Coordinator on Starkiller – a cumbersome title that seemed more glamorous than what you really did: make sure that everyone got fed. You calculated quantities of rations to order for the base, designed high-efficiency travel meal kits for pilots and those on long-distance missions, and did the occasional nutritional counseling of personnel referred to you by the medical bay – which is how you had met Hux. 

Apparently, the good General was a high-functioning hypochondriac, and his anxiety revolved around a twin-pronged pathology about his diet and even the most minute sensation from his stomach. About a month ago, when the Medbay had been unable to supply him with a cure for his mercurial gut, he was sent to you. He had been coming to your tiny office on a weekly basis, each time lamenting some new gastrointestinal ill that he was simply positive had to do with the quality of food supplied by the First Order. You offered that, perhaps, it was his high-stress position that was causing his problems, refraining from mentioning that you just placed the requests for rations – you didn’t pick the quality of the suppliers. That was above your paygrade. 

Despite your good intentions, this offended the good General, who proceeded to spit out in a fury that you were implying he was “weak.” You assured him otherwise, and emphatically agreed to put in a special order for him next time you sent out for rations as an appeasement. After all, he was your superior – and you were expendable. You knew your life was in jeopardy as soon as you signed on for the position, but it paid well and had essentially all-inclusive benefits. If your job, and perhaps your life, depended on ordering him fresher food or strange capsules stuffed with alien clay, you were game to comply if it kept you afloat. 

Unfortunately, the cycle had continued. Each week, General Hux would appear - a rigidly-contained maelstrom of anxiety, lips pursed in a thin grimace - he would rant and rave about how he was sure he was at the brink of developing some fatal disease. All confidential, of course. You would listen, brow set in a sympathetic furrow, and nod at the appropriate times. By the end of the third week, you were ready to hurl the man straight through your door before having to listen to another tantrum about the evils of nutrient tablets. Despite his obvious military prowess, the man was an absolute lunatic when it came to regulating his emotions about acid reflux. 

Last week had been the kicker, though. Hux had wandered into your office for his weekly tirade, the door closing behind him with an ominous whoosh. The silence was tomb-like, broken only by the tight clip of his bootheels as he approached your desk. Unlike most of his visits, this time the General seemed calm. He sat down in the chair across from you – you had been putting in orders for freeze-dried produce at your computer – and forced a small smile. 

“General Hux,” you greeted, “What can I do for you?” You smiled as generously as you could muster, hoping your positive affect – feigned though it may have been – would wear off on him.

“Actually,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees and tenting his fingers, “I’m here to do something for you.” 

You gulped, straightening your spine and sitting back into your chair. Your heart had kicked into high gear, beating fiercely in your ears. You had always been an exceptionally observant person, and you keyed immediately into the fact that the General seemed infinitely more relaxed than when you usually encountered him. Maybe your recommendation of a daily morning meditation had been helping. In your gut, though, you knew that wasn’t the case. The look in his eyes was hesitant and commanding at the same time, and you knew he was here for the same reason he always was: he wanted something from you.

“You have been,” he said, and for a moment, his eyes flicked to the ceiling before settling again on you, “Expedient. Consistently… expedient at responding to my memos.” 

Oh, dear Lord. The memos. What he was referring to was the emails he sent to your datapad at all hours of the night, essentially making you on-call 24/7 to cater to his needs any time he had a pseudo-nutritional ill to unload on you. Your temple started throbbing at the mention of the messages, which had made you so nervous you had taken to setting an alarm that went off at the turn of every hour during the night just so you could confirm you hadn’t missed a panicked email from one of the highest-ranking officers you worked under. It was a chore and a burden to be beholden to Hux’s whims, and you were happier when the memos had remained unspoken of.

“Well,” you murmured, before speaking back up, “Well, it’s my pleasure to assist you how I can, General.” 

“Right,” he said. The left side of Hux’s lips had quirked into a minute smirk, before fading into his usual façade of military professionalism. He sat back, lifting his arms from his knees and standing. “I have reassigned your quarters.” 

“General?”

“It doesn’t do for me to inundate you digitally when I can simply knock on your door and ask you what I mean to,” Hux crept towards your desk, leaning his palms on the edge and pinning you with his icy blue eyes. “You will pack your things and relocate to this room,” he slid a piece of paper across your desk with your new room number on it, “Tonight.” 

“But… General-” You began, ready to protest – if you were so good at responding to him in a timely manner, then why would you need to move?

“It. Does. Not. Do,” He repeated darkly, leaning in even closer than he had been, “For me to send you multiple memos when I can simply call upon you when I need you.” For the briefest of moments, you saw his eyes flick up and down the upper half of your figure. All that was visible with you sitting safely behind your desk. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lieutenant?”

You nodded, hedging your bets. What else were you supposed to do? You opened the piece of paper, immediately recognizing the sequence of numbers that indicated where your room was. OQ.10357 – The "O.Q." stood for “Officer’s Quarters.” Hux was, in effect, making you his neighbor, all so that he could – what? Harass you for nutritional advice? Potentially accost you? Whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and all because he said he could. You hadn’t picked up on what was apparently his at least mild attraction to you, but his leering and the forced reassignment he was dumping on you made you feel a fool. How could you have missed this motive, hidden between the lines of his chronic invasion of your space, both professionally and personally? You were shrinking, shame shriveling you up inside as you watched your life shift in front of your eyes.

“Affirmative, General,” you managed to squeak out in response. 

“Good,” He confirmed, “Think of it as an informal promotion.” 

His sickeningly satisfied tone made you want to wretch. He had known you would comply as soon as he had concocted the idea – you had never done anything else. You had watched as he spun on his heels and exited your office without a second glance. When he was safely away, you hung your head in your hands and bit your palm to keep from screaming. 

And that’s why you were here tonight, freezing your butt off in an abandoned conference room at an unholy hour, anxiously checking your datapad to make sure you hadn’t missed a furious message from the General. He had called upon you once in your office since he had forced you to move, but had yet to visit your quarters after hours. You intended to keep it that way for as long as possible, so you had taken to wandering the halls in your new wing of the ship every night to keep your frustration over the whole fucked up situation in check. You also couldn’t sleep, never sure if the redhead were to show up at your door, demanding health counseling. Or more. 

So, when you heard the door across the room shut with a familiar hiss, you fully expected to see Hux stalking across the room to corner you. But you were wrong. It wasn’t Hux. It was only your other most highly-ranked superior officer. 

Fantastic. What had you done to end up locked in a room with Kylo Ren? 

You had only seen him a handful of times before, a dark figure standing atop the massive stage where all present members of the First Order were addressed during assemblies. But you had heard. You knew about his temper – you knew about the red lightsaber, the destroyed machinery (and colleagues) he left in his wake. You knew he was perhaps the person strongest with the Force left alive. He had killed all the others. 

You stood to face him, tossing your hood back around your shoulders and backing into the table behind you. The conference room seemed to shrink around your body, the ten-foot high viewport you had been resting on shrinking to a minute speck as you watched him stand, unmoving, across the room from you. Even from here, you could tell he was taller than he seemed from behind a sea of Stormtroopers. 

“Commander Ren,” you sputtered, linking your hands behind your back and doing your damndest to stand at attention. 

He began to close the distance, and fear crept into your heart. This was the end, without a doubt. You could feel him, the crackle of his raw power radiating like a dark halo around him as he walked towards you. Only when he was uncomfortably close to you did he stop. You stared into his chest, eyes flicking momentarily to the sheen of his boots back up through the black cascade of his robes before landing on the infamous helmet. You had to crane your neck to look into the visor, but you forced yourself, searching for – whatever it was – behind the mask. You hoped, foolishly, for even a scrap of sympathy. 

“Identify yourself.” The voice was flat, and even through the modulation you could tell his tone was metered. You had fucked up, but you weren’t sure how. You complied, stating your name and rank. 

“What are you doing here?” 

You gulped, resisting the urge to pick at your cuticles, “Well, I’m the Lead Nutritional Coordinator. I was transferred here from-”

“No,” he interrupted, one hand launching out to latch on the table beside your right hip. The other shot out, too, trapping you between the table and the massive wall of his torso. You were circled by the black ring of his arms, and you tried to ignore your ass numbing out of sensation as it pressed into the edge of the table. For a moment, there was only the sound of his breath through the modulator and your petrified silence. “What are you doing _here_ , in this sector of the vessel?” 

Oh. This, you could deal with. At least you could be honest.

“My quarters are in this section of the vessel, sir.” 

He knelt, his biceps keeping you trapped as he sunk to look you in the eyes. Well, he was looking you in the eyes – you assumed – but all you saw was your own expression, shocked into fear and reflected in the shining black of his mask. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

What?

“Sir, I promise. It’s a recent transf-” 

Suddenly, he released you from his constricting presence and stood to his full height, stepping back from you. You looked up at him, but the relief was temporary. You felt the airflow constrict in your neck, his hand clenched in a phantom representation of your throat as he slunk back, raising his arm. To your horror, your feet rose from the floor as he lifted you with the Force, skulking back for a moment before racing forward and pressing you into the window you had been resting on minutes before. Your feet skipped across the table as you flew above and behind it, clumsily attempting to regain control of your body. But there was no resisting, and you were helpless as you flew into the window behind you. The cold duracrylic of the viewport pressed through your hair, chilling you from the scalp to the bone as the oxygen seeped from your body. All you could muster was a small gasp, and you felt the invisible fingers on your neck tighten. You closed your eyes, paralyzed with fear.

“Look at me.”

The grip on your neck loosened momentarily, and you opened your eyes as you hastily gulped in a breath. With the way he was holding you, you were as tall as he was. You caught your own reflection again, looking with desperate terror into the black of his mask’s visor. He was unwavering, standing unnervingly still before the Force tightened around your airways once more. 

“Why can’t I hear you?” He leaned in so close you could see the whites in your eyes begin to redden in the mirror of where his eyes should have been. “What are you _hiding_?”

If you could have laughed, you would have. You had no idea what he was talking about. You tried to speak, but before you could you felt an enormous pressure wrap around your brain, squeezing the inside of your head like vice. It was like the worst hangover you ever had, but multiplied exponentially and spread to every inch of your consciousness. You were right – this was the end – and you closed your eyes and began to say your goodbyes to everyone you had ever cared for. You spared a moment to curse Hux – you wouldn’t be here if not for him. 

Then, there was a flood. The thought of Hux had opened a door in your mind, and you knew – even behind the pain – what he was seeing. You watched, with hot shame, as Kylo Ren sifted through every memory you had of the past month with Hux. His endless memos, the countless trips to your office. You saw, as if through water, the creeping image of Hux leaning over your desk and telling you about your reassignment. You were helpless to stop the tide of memories, and your vision began to turn black on the edges as you travelled dangerously close to unconsciousness. 

And then it was over. 

You dropped to the floor, suddenly able to breathe again. The immense pressure left your skull, but you were left with a dull ache all over your brain that you expected wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. Tears leaked from the corner of your eyes as you coughed, fighting to urge air back into your lungs. 

A sound emerged from Kylo Ren’s helmet that could have been a cough, a chuckle, or a derision – you were in no state to tell the difference. You were crumpled on the floor, and you winced as you stared into his boots. You cringed as he sunk to the ground, his robes pooling around him as he reached out a leather gloved hand. The slightest touch of his index finger brushed your chin, angling your head up to face him before he retreated, standing once more before you. Your skin burned where the leather of his glove had touched you, and you felt as if you had been branded. You stayed on the floor, unable to bring yourself to any semblance of professionalism. 

But, then again, the man had just _choked you out_ , so any inclination to even pretend to be polite had fled from even your most deep-seated sense of self-preservation. 

“It appears I have misjudged your motivations.” You could hear a flicker of emotion behind the words. It might have been amusement, but either way it was a more responsive dialogue than you had gotten from him before. Gathering your courage, you stood shakily, bracing yourself with one arm on the wall behind you.

“What do you mean you can’t _hear_ me?” You wheezed, lungs still not fully operational. You knew he could read minds, if he wanted – and you were absolutely positive that was not a rumor now, considering the elephants dancing in your skull – but why he’d want to know what was going on in your low-ranking head was beyond your comprehension. What could you be thinking that he would want to know? 

Kylo Ren was silent. You took the opportunity to push off from the wall, doing your best to stand tall. Even still, he towered above you. Your heart continued its staccato against your ribcage, and you tried to suppress a wince as he stepped toward you once more. Thankfully, his hands remained at his sides and you were still able to breathe. You summoned all your courage, and took one step closer to him. He stepped back, in turn. What, were you playing Chicken?

“You’re correct about one thing, at least” he said, walking backwards to the door, which opened without any seeming effort on his part. “General Hux’s anxiety is most certainly… oppressive.” Turning on his heel, Kylo Ren left the conference room. The door hissed shut once more behind him, and you slumped back onto the floor as you felt his crackling presence fade further and further away. And your question remained unanswered. 

You touched your neck, which felt tender inside. You wondered if a person could bruise from a Force-choke. Being Force-choked? You laughed listlessly, and hot, frustrated tears leaked from your eyes. Hux wouldn’t leave you alone, and you had – somehow – made it so Kylo fucking Ren had almost killed you. You turned your aching neck and looked back out the window at the stars, wishing you could be on any planet orbiting any one of them. Really, you wished you could be anywhere but Starkiller, where nothing made sense. 

As always, the stars blinked back at you, offering no comfort but their glinting beauty in the cold, vast blackness of space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This has been marinading in my head for the past six months or so, and I figured I better write it instead of just obsessing about it. It's a labor of love inspired so greatly by @kassanovella - I wouldn't have gotten into Kylo Ren without her incredibly astute writing, and I think she sets the standard for Kylo/Reader fics. I didn't grow up a massive Star Wars fan, so please let me know if I manage to muck something up completely.)
> 
> Oh, no! Kylo Ren has been messing around in your head? That shouldn't end up being a problem. Tune in soon to see what the Tantrum Thrower in Black has in store for lil' ol' reader!


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You keep ending up alone in a room with Kylo Ren, and you're thinking you might be cursed. What did you ever do to him?

You stared into your bowl, listlessly. The mix of grains – essentially a flavorless military oatmeal – were congealing slowly in their regulation stainless steel bowl, and you swallowed your gorge. Not for the first time, you felt sorry for every person with a stomach on Starkiller. You had made multiple requests for the most rudimentary spices, salts, and sugars, and had been denied each time by the higher-ups. Unfortunately, the First Order appeared to view flavor as a luxury, along with every color besides red, white, and black.

At least no one had a crucial vitamin deficiency, you thought mirthlessly.

You were about to clear your plate, abandoning the thought of breakfast, when Tanya slapped her tray down next to yours.

“What? Even you can’t eat this shit?” The tall brunette slunk her legs into the cafeteria style table – bench bolted directly into it – and sighed.

Despite yourself, you snorted at her comment. You turned to her and exaggeratedly stuffed a final cold bite into your mouth before miming fake joy at the sensation, rubbing your stomach with glee and wiggling your eyebrows. You were proud of yourself for not spitting it back into the bowl.

“I just work here,” you countered, the typical response between the two of you whenever work was out of hand. Which – when your employer was attempting to conquer, you know _the galaxy_ – was often. “Besides, you know I tried to get cinnamon. They said it was - ”

“‘Frivolous’, I know,” Tanya relented, finishing your sentence. You smiled at each other, and she gamely began to eat.

You had met Tanya almost as soon as you had come aboard Starkiller. Your scheduled morning meal was at the same time as hers – despite being in charge of procuring the food, you weren’t in charge of when you got to eat it. The rudimentary dry rations you kept in your quarters were no substitute for even the illusion of social interaction, so you tended to eat most of your meals with your colleagues. Tanya was lithe for her height, with soft, chocolate-colored hair and the most joyful laugh. She was one of the Base’s most skilled nurses. Perhaps you were biased, because she had become your best friend, but her monumental success rate with her patients spoke for itself. She was funny where you were serious; talkative where you were quiet, and didn’t seem to notice how chronically _awkward_ you felt with most of your peers. In short, you were a good match.

“You look like hell.”

Plus, she didn’t mince words.

You glanced around the cafeteria. The first meal of the day was for the Stormtroopers – subjected to even more hellish hours than yourself – and the second was for all medical sector personnel on day shift. The sea of people eating and talking, half in their black, regulation scrubs, and the other half in their equally dark uniforms, was inching you slowly towards panic. Ever since your encounter with Kylo Ren two nights ago you had been hypervigilant: unfortunately, nearly everyone wore black, and whenever you weren’t alone your eyes would sweep the room for the towering, robed figure who was rapidly joining General Hux on your growing list of “Reasons Why I Can’t Sleep.” It didn’t matter that your paths had never crossed before the altercation – the fear was still there, a heavy mantle of dread hanging from your shoulders.

“I haven’t been getting quite enough rest,” you offered, minimizing. You contemplated telling her about your situation – about Hux and his murky designs on you, or your career, and about Kylo Ren. But you didn’t even have the shadow of a plan to tackle either of those situations, so you remained silent. You’d tell her later.

“Clearly.” Tanya rolled her eyes, and you slouched to rest your elbows on the table. You could feel the sleep you’d been so deprived of settling thickly behind your eyes, and the room grew increasingly hazy. Maybe you could just doze for a minute or two... You felt your eyes drift shut, the conscious part of you that was screaming to remain awake doused by your utter exhaustion.

When your eyes shot open, the cafeteria was nearly empty. The corner of your mouth was wet – had you been drooling? Panic gripped your insides, your palms sweating and your while your heart fought to beat out of your chest. You nearly screamed, but bit your tongue and hastily extricated yourself from the table, looking around for your tray. Someone touched your shoulder, and you yelped.

“Hey, hey!” Tanya said your name gently, soothing your shoulder with a gentle rub, “You’re fine – you clearly needed to sleep. I cleared your plate for you, but it’s time to go.”

You looked at your digital watch – you had five minutes to get to your office, which was seven minutes from the cafeteria. You would have to run. Sometimes you really fucking hated how big the Base was, even more so now that your quarters were so decentralized from where you actually worked. You thanked Tanya, offering her a hasty goodbye and a promise to see her later for dinner.

***

It had been an unusually productive day. Your brain thanked you for the unplanned nap at breakfast, allowing you to move through the day without the cloud of fatigue you had been beginning to accept as the new norm. The orders for the next cycle were placed – you hadn’t forgotten your bland breakfast, and had snuck in a request for brown sugar as a footnote. Maybe this time, you’d get lucky. You’d also met with a Stormtrooper, who meekly confessed their chronic constipation. After a few questions, you typed up a new, higher-fiber meal plan for them on your pad, entering their identification number and sending it into the kitchen’s files. It was a fully-integrated system that allowed you to cater to specific needs without worrying about your clients forgetting to follow your recommendations: you made the plans, and the kitchens made the food. Anyone without a special note from you ate pretty much the same thing. You thought fondly of the days when you were in school and were required to cook – you hadn’t so much as touched an oven in over a year.

It really was a fabulous world you lived in – requisitions and bowel movements.

When you were done for the day, the Stormtrooper sent on their way – back to whatever they did, which you tried actively not to think about – you turned off the lights in your office, locked the door, and headed back to your room. It was a long walk these days. Your office was far closer to all the medical personnel’s quarters, where you used to live. And even though your new room looked essentially the same as your old one, you missed it all the same. Now, it took you over a quarter of an hour and two elevators just to get back to your quarters, which left you plenty of time to feel sorry for yourself.

By the time you unlocked your door and flopped onto your cot, you felt like crying. You didn’t bother to turn the lights on, knowing exactly what you’d see: a grey room, with no windows. A metal dresser, bolted firmly to the wall, across from your cot – also attached to the wall, as if you’d steal everything that wasn’t nailed down. The only perk was that you had your own bathroom, now – no more communal ‘freshers. It was a tiny toilet, an even smaller sink, and a spartan sonic showerhead, but at least it was yours.

Maybe you should thank Hux for that, you thought darkly.

Peeling yourself from the bed, you went into your bathroom and peeked in the shined aluminum rectangle that was supposed to serve as a mirror. Maybe the First Order thought the glass could be used as a weapon, or maybe they didn’t want you to focus too much on your appearance – either way, it was hard to see yourself, but you looked anyway.

And Tanya was right – you did look like hell. The bags under your eyes were slightly swollen, turning an ugly purple-brown beneath your skin. Poking at them uselessly, you sighed – you’d run out of concealer months ago, and any luxury items you ordered with your meager pay would take just as long to arrive anyway. You unbuttoned your uniform shirt, peeling the collar away from your neck to look for bruising. It was a futile ritual: what you had learned this week was that, no, a person did not _visibly_ bruise from being Force-choked, but it did, apparently, do internal damage. The first morning after your run-in with Kylo Ren, you had dashed to the bathroom, expecting to see a ring of bruises circling your neck, but all you were left with was a pounding headache and an exceptionally sore throat. All you had been able to drink was tea.

You stood back, assessing your face. You looked exhausted, and you knew no amount of gazing at yourself would magically fix that. Scoffing, you turned and left the bathroom, tossing your shirt on the floor, and made the plan to sleep until dinner. You were barely under your thin blankets before sleep washed over you, and by some unknown grace you slept deeply, dreamlessly.

Until, for the second time in one day, you woke up in a panic. This time, it was to a curt, persistent knock banging on your door.

Fuck. Who could that possibly be? The Ginger Menace, or Professor Choke-Hold?

You knew with a sick certainty that it was most likely Hux, finally here to bother you at home, but there was always the possibility that it was Kylo Ren, come to finish the job and kill you once and for all.

“Just a moment!” You cleared your garbled throat, and shot from bed. Slipping into your shirt and buttoning it hastily, you clicked the button to turn on your datapad and checked it while your dressed. You had slept for four hours, missed dinner, and had an unread email from Tanya. She was probably worried about you, but you didn’t have time for her right now. The knocking continued outside your door, growing more impatient with every passing second.

Hair finger-combed and shirt tucked in, you ran to the door, leaving yourself the sliver of a moment to take a deep breath and compose yourself before you pressed the button to unlock and open your door.

“Lieutenant.” Relief washed over you – it was the devil you knew.

“General Hux,” you managed, standing at attention. You wondered if it was apparent to him as it felt to you that you did not want him here. Doing your best to reel your ungenerous emotions in, you forced a tiny, amicable smile.

“You were late to your post this morning, Lieutenant.” Hux was entirely composed, his eyes unfeeling and his lips set together in a thin line. From the top of his perfectly combed hair to his shining boots, he was the very picture of the professional, military attitude you guessed he worked quite hard to exude. You felt unkempt and frazzled in comparison, as if you were falling apart at the seams and he was gleefully pulling the thread. You wondered if this was why he had reassigned you – to more readily catch you off your guard. If so, it was working.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. I’m normally on time, but I was…” What were you supposed to say? _So sorry I was late, General, but between you nearly stalking me and Kylo Ren loathing me, I’m basically dead from exhaustion!_ “I was running late.” You finished lamely, almost recoiling at the inadequacy of your response.

General Hux stepped forward, dangerously close to entering your quarters. You stood where you were, heels planted firmly in the ground. You couldn’t explicitly ban him from entering – that would not go well – but you could at least stand in his way for as long as possible. Hux eyed you, squinting unkindly at your deflection.

“If you had been on time, instead of-” Hux pulled a tiny mobile datapad from his pocket, pausing to pull up a screen, “Three minutes late, you would have noticed that I was waiting there to speak with you. I had no time to waste. The egregious misuse of your own time is not my concern, but you would do best to think twice about wasting _my time_.” He punctuated the last two words with his finger, poking your shoulder once, then twice, before drawing his hand into the fold behind his back.

Unease settled over you. Your range of hearing seemed to extend until you could hear every beep of machinery down the hall, blood rushing in your ears as anxiety revved your senses into overtime. You calculated quickly, stepping from your room and shutting the door behind you. You didn’t want him to have you more cornered than he already did.

“Sir,” you began, sidestepping him and turning to face him parallel to your door instead of directly in front of it. “It won’t happen again, I assure you.” You offered him your kindest smile, making sure it reached your eyes, “And I apologize.”

Hux looked you over, clearly processing the disparity between your ingratiating words and your behavior, which screamed too loudly and too clearly the truth: _Get away from me_. But the ball was still in your court while he remained silent, weighing his options, and you attempted to get the battle back onto your own turf.

“Do you have time now? We can go to my office, and discuss whatever you-”

You trailed off, unsure if you felt him or heard him first. Both your head and Hux’s swiveled to watch as Kylo Ren rounded the corner into the hall you were standing in, his rhythmic steps echoing as he approached the two of you. Did Hux feel it, too? How with each step closer, the electricity that had infused the air the second you noticed him was drawing ever closer to implosion? You felt as if every nerve in your body had been electrocuted, goosebumps rippling across your flesh and drawing your pumping heart into your throat.

Maybe it was just you – when Hux saw Ren, his mouth drew into a cruel sneer, and he seemed consumed by irritation. You had no idea how much the two commanding officers clearly detested each other until seeing them together like this. Facing Ren, General Hux fluffed his plume and drew himself to his full height, and even still had to look up in order to catch Kylo Ren’s obscured eyes.

“ _Ren_ ,” Hux nearly spat, the General holding his ground as the Commander looked down at him. On him, too, you suspected.

“Hux.” The modulated voice was flat, but you could detect the undertone of disdain within it. A bubble of manic laughter threatened to leave your throat as you stood entirely still, the absurdity of being cornered by both Hux _and_ Kylo Ren not lost on you.

 _Well, fuck me sideways_ , you thought.

Instantly, and almost imperceptibly, you saw Kylo Ren’s mask turn a fraction of an inch towards you. A fresh wave of terror washed over you – did he hear that? – but he didn’t miss a beat, addressing the General once more.

“Your presence is required on the bridge.” Frantically, you tried to detect any emotion behind the voice, but Kylo Ren’s tone was once again as indecipherable as the first time you met him.

Hux looked to you, and then back to Kylo Ren.

“Fine,” Hux relented, dismissing you with a nod. He held your gaze for another moment, the implication clear: _our business is unfinished_. You held your expression blankly, as both you and Kylo Ren watched the General retreat.

You reached behind you, opening the door to your quarters. You had backed halfway through the door – home free! – when a black-gloved hand materialized beside you, stopping the hydraulic door from whooshing shut. Once again, you were face-to-chest with Kylo Ren, and it took every ounce of your strength to force yourself to look up. The hairs on your arms were still on end, and you wondered how it was possible for one person to make you so incredibly disoriented and nervous. Even Hux didn’t do this – at least you had a general idea of what he was about, but Kylo Ren remained enigmatic in his intentions.

“Come with me.”

You didn’t have much of a choice. Sighing, you stepped from the half-safety of your room back into the hallway. Kylo Ren removed his hand from your doorway, the door finally shuddering shut as it was freed from the obstruction of his arm.

Without prelude, he walked quickly down the hall, the length of his stride forcing you to walk double-time to keep up with him. You felt gangly and ungraceful, toeing the line between jogging and walking very fast as you struggled not to lose sight of the man leading you down the twisting corridors of the vessel, seemingly at random. After a few minutes, he finally stopped in front of a door and opened it, waiting for you to enter first. As you entered the room, you realized that this made it so he was standing between you and the door – your only means of egress – and that you were trapped in here with him.

You heard the door close, looking around at what appeared to be an empty office. It was nicer than yours; it had the luxury of a viewport and a large monitor attached to the desk, and was semicircular. The chair behind and in front of the desk were abandoned, and you had the sense that this room had never been occupied.

Kylo Ren stood, watching you – you knew it with certainty, even though you couldn’t see it – and you crossed your arms uncomfortably.

“Commander?”

“No,” he said, suddenly brushing past you and moving to stand at the viewport. It was small, round, and mounted at his eyelevel. Across the small room, you watched the reflection of the stars shimmer, diluted, in the visor of his mask.

He looked back at you.

“Sit, and don’t talk.”

Easy enough. Complying, you approached the desk. You considered the chairs, but ultimately opted to sit on the desk instead, facing Kylo Ren. You had a firm wish that your lack of leverage could be somewhat balanced by the extra elevation you had sitting _on_ the desk instead of behind it.

Strangely, you weren’t as uneasy as you had been before. Either that, or it was simply harder to tell. Like before, you could feel the energy radiating off him, condensing your panic into a subdued acceptance. Colors seemed brighter, and you were bursting with confusion. You still weren’t entirely sure that he wasn’t going to kill you, but he hadn’t been openly violent – yet – so you had a shred of hope. For many moments, he stood, his eyes once again contemplating the space outside the room instead of within it.

Frankly, you were uncomfortable.

After a silence that must have lasted minutes, he faced you. He looked at you on the desk, glancing from your feet to your eyes. At least he was surprised by your choice of seating. If that was the only way to get the drop on the guy, then so be it. Finally, he broke the silence.

“I couldn’t hear you before,” he said, “and now I can’t stop hearing you.” His gloved hand clenched into a fist at his side, and fear began edging its way to the forefront of your mind. Your feet were cold in your boots, your breath dry in your throat. You had an urge to cough, which you squashed.

“What-”

“I said,” he reiterated, “Don’t. Talk.” Kylo Ren stalked closer to you, the echoes of your first encounter fresh in your mind. He stopped in front of you, once again looming shockingly close to you. If you barely reached out your hand, you’d be touching the clasp of his belt. There was just the two of you, breathing slowly in the same room, his swarming aura wrapping around you like humidity. You felt him, in your lungs. Full of fear and questions, you were powerless to look away.

Looking up, you encountered the image of your face in the distorted in the curve of his visor. You searched his mask as you would look over a face, had it been there. You weren’t totally sure what to do with yourself – he was being so quiet, just standing there and intimidating you with his sheer proximity.

You opened your mouth to speak, unable to bear the silence, but before you could get a word out you felt your tongue freeze in your mouth, immobile. He hadn’t lifted a finger, yet he was using the Force to keep you silent.

“You appear to be unable to follow the simplest of instructions, Lieutenant,” Kylo Ren said. Slowly, he stepped in further, until your knees were nearly touching his legs and you couldn’t crane your neck to look up at him without leaning your chin on his chest.

You felt the Force unlock from your jaw as Kylo Ren sunk to eyelevel with you. You kept silent, furrowing your brow to communicate your confusion.

“Don’t talk,” he said once more, “and I’ll show you what I mean.”

Kylo Ren’s right hand was on your temple then, but before you could fight you were-

-gone, back two nights ago.

But you weren’t you.

Distantly, if you tried to, you could _feel_ yourself – your own body – back in reality. You could feel your tight grip on the edge of the desk, the dim sensation of your knuckles turning white and the crushing weight in your brain. Immediately, though, you knew. You knew in your mind’s eye that Kylo Ren was _showing_ you his memory of the night you met.

It came in flashes. You saw Kylo Ren pacing through the halls, clearly consumed by thought, wandering until he came upon a hallway you were familiar with. At the end of it, there was the conference room where you had been seeking refuge that night. When he reached the door, you saw your small figure hunched by the viewport and were - suddenly - overcome with what he wanted you to know.

There was a _dip_ in the Force, where you should have been. A nothingness. Only by the contrasting lack of your own energetic presence did you key into what Kylo Ren must hear all the time – the low, resounding murmur of the thoughts of those around him, like an audible web. But you, sitting there in the conference room, simply should not have _existed_ by how silent you were. The same dark energy that you perceived to surround Kylo Ren was almost how he saw you - shrouded in quiet. The knowledge wasn't your own, but you knew by proxy that everyone _else_ emitted at least some of their thoughts through the Force. Some were louder, some softer. And there you were, sitting and staring into the stars in your circle of emptiness. 

_A spy._

You heard the thought as if it was your own, felt the blinding rage at the mere thought that the First Order had been infiltrated. So, that was what he meant when he said he “couldn’t hear you” – he had really thought you were hiding something. It was with a detached pain that you watched Kylo Ren interrogate you, then lift and slam you into the wall as he used the Force to unlock mind. You saw him break the connection to your mind and leave, his visual memory of you fading as he left the room.

Faster still, though, the memories flashed. What was in front of your eyes was obscured with what looked like grey mist, passing too quickly and blurrily for you to make out what Kylo Ren had seen since he left you that night. You had a hunch he didn’t want you to see what he had in the past few days, but then you understood that what he had been seeing wasn't what was important.

He had been hearing you, all the time.

He heard your plague of anxiety over whatever it was that was going on with Hux. All your emotions - your irritation, your exhaustion, even the tenderness you felt towards Tanya - and your _actual thoughts_ were flowing into Kylo Ren’s mind, unbidden; and to you, seemingly at random.

_Stupidbastard-Oh,sotired-Can'tforgetthe-OnemorehourthenIcango!-It’snothim,isit?-WhatdoesRenwant-_

You gasped as you were shot back to reality. It was like being squeezed through a massive tube, and you could feel the phantom sensation of vertigo teasing your brain as you were suddenly the only one in your head. Your face was flushed, chest heaving as sweat cooled on your skin. The exertion of hosting someone else’s consciousness had been a toll on your own body.

Kylo Ren stood, pulling back and letting you catch your breath. You felt hopelessly exposed - you had no idea that you had somehow been broadcasting a one-way radio show of your thoughts to Kylo-goddamn-Ren's own personal head. Had he heard every thought, or just the highlights? You considered death-by-airlock rather than entertain the notion that Kylo Ren had been privy to your shower-singing voice. Your cheeks burned as you flushed pink, groaning as your face sunk towards your chest. 

He touched you then, barely brushing the tips of his fingers down your right arm. What the fuck was  _that_ , though? Despite yourself, your skin flared cool in the wake of the touch. When Kylo Ren spoke, it was with finality. Then the dread was back, slipping down your spine in droplets as you considered his words. 

“I have to break the connection.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. Hope this chapter isn't too long and doesn't come on too strong. I toyed with pushing out the reveal (and extending the suspense) of why Kylo's bothering you, but I wanted Reader to get a little facetime with him in this chapter. 
> 
> Since I'm on holiday from school right now, I'm trying to update this as often as possible. When I go back for next quarter, the updates will probably be weekly, 'cause I'm taking a full course load. Thank you for all the love on the first chapter - I hope this one makes you happy, too.
> 
> P.S. Leave it to me to start a Pre-TFA fic when The Last Jedi is just coming out. Whoops.  
> P.P.S. Saw The Last Jedi tonight, and can we please talk about shirtless Adam Driver?


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kylo Ren annoys you and you annoy him, achieving harmony in all things.

“Wait a second!” You nearly shouted, springing from the desk – which turned out to be a poor decision. Still slightly disoriented, you swayed on your feet for a moment as you waited for the unpleasant sensation to pass.

“Just… wait a second,” you pleaded, “Please.” You crossed your arms and sighed, lifting a hand to rub at your ringing temples. The abandoned office was pulsating on the edges of your vision, and it took a few deep, full-lung breaths for the room to solidify completely. You gave up on standing, slumping into the chair closest to you and looking up at Kylo Ren, who stood still and silent as a statue before you.

“Why?” You threw up your hands. “I don’t get it. You _couldn’t_ hear me, but now I’m ‘ _connected_ ’ to you somehow?” Scoffing, you shook your head in utter disbelief. It wasn’t like you had never had the thought that something was wrong with your brain, but you imagined it to be more of a casual defect – your perfectionism, or perhaps the nagging, persistent feelings of anxiety – but not something as debilitating as your current situation: mentally fused with a dangerous masked man. Was he even a man? For the first time, you looked at Kylo Ren and seriously considered what it was he was hiding behind the helmet.

“Stop. Thinking.” Kylo Ren growled. His fists clenched at his sides again, the soft whisper of leather-on-leather audible in the quiet room. He sighed, obviously irritated with you.

“Oh, that’s easy,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Just stop thinking. Cool.”

Kylo Ren spun, charging towards you. As if in slow motion, he punched his hand through the monitor on the desk. The screen cleaved, spewing shrapnel of glass and digital innards across the room. You watched with horror, the tinkling clatter of the fallen debris fusing with the crackle of split wires. Rage redirected, Kylo Ren seemed to calm – for a moment – taking two deep breaths and coming to stand at your side. He lifted a hand, gesturing around the room.

“Find something to focus on. Look at it, and don’t think about anything else.”

You tried to temper your growing irritation with him. Was he deranged? It wasn’t like you _meant_ for this to happen. You followed his instructions, though, searching the room for something to concentrate on. You settled on the control panel near the door, choosing an orange button on which to fixate your atttention. Staring at it, you began to breathe deeply. You noticed the shape of the button – perfectly round, the size of a coin; and its hue – bright, and backlit so that it shone like an ember.

You could see Kylo Ren in your peripheral vision, and you could still feel him standing next to you. He emitted what felt like a low charge, the way a boiling kettle radiated heat. Except what surrounded him was… you didn’t know. Power? Undoubtedly. Was it the Force, or was it just how he was? Would he tell you if you asked –

“Don’t think about _me_ ,” Kylo Ren interrupted your train of thought. You hadn’t even noticed your mind had wandered, even though your eyes were going dry as you stared at your little orange button. The fact that he could hear your thoughts was almost as distracting as it was invasive. He must have heard your thought, because he sidestepped behind you and out of your range of vision. It really _was_ less distracting without his looming black figure beside you, even if you could still feel him standing there.

Fuck, you just wanted this encounter to be _over_. You concentrated as hard as you could, recommitting your attention to the button. You stared, noticing each thought that tried to surface in your mind and batting them away one by one. After a few moments, it was just your slow breathing. Your mind was focused so entirely on looking at the button and trying to quiet your thoughts that you nearly jumped when Kylo Ren spoke again.

“You’re not as loud when you concentrate like this.”

The obscured voice came from right next to your ear – you hadn’t noticed that he had leaned in so close again. You were lucky he chose to speak quietly, otherwise he would have blown out your eardrums. A thought about his overarching lack of respect for personal space threatened to break through your mind, but you refocused on your breath and the unbroken line of sight between you and the button, which was anchoring you to reality. In this rhythm _(breath, button, breath, button_ ), you were able to simply listen as Kylo Ren continued.

“Your thoughts are… disproportionately loud. Louder than they should be. To me. I don’t know why. You saw what happened. I heard _nothing_ from you, until I got inside your head. Now, I hear you almost constantly.”

 _Breath. Button. Breath. Button._ Annoyance tugged at your breast – it sounded like he was calling _you_ stupid for the fact that this had happened. Like it was your fault. _Breath, button._

“Whatever the reason,” Kylo Ren continued, “I cannot abide your incessant thoughts about _spices_ ,” he spat, as if personally offended by the concept, “and other such trivial matters interrupting my thoughts.” 

That was simply too much. You tore your gaze from the control panel, anger uncoiling from your chest and erupting from your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, I’m sorry, _Commander_ ,” you swiveled in the chair to face him, his mask inches from your face, “That _all my personal thoughts_ being laid bare for you is so fucking _inconvenient_. Not that you bothered to ask, but I hate it, too.”

“ _Petulant_ little thing,” Kylo Ren said, darkly, wrapping a hand around your neck. He applied the barest amount of pressure, his thumb on your jugular and his index finger at your windpipe. You could feel how he was physically restraining himself from quite literally snapping your neck. “You would do well to remember your own place. You’re – how have you put it? – _expendable_.”

More pressure, then, as his grip tightened around your neck. For the first time, though, you weren’t afraid. Unfortunately, the reflection of your own face in Kylo Ren’s mask was becoming familiar by now, and you watched yourself as the anger deflated and seeped from your body. You were left with exhaustion and a headache, now a running theme in your life. Kylo Ren remained charged, the fierce tempest of his emotions rocking the scant space between your bodies. In a moment of clarity, you leveled with him.

“So, do it,” you whispered through his grip. “Break the connection, or whatever. Kill me, if you’re going to. Just find a way to get _out_ of my head.”

Disarmed by your candor – or at least prepared to reason with you – Kylo Ren released your neck and walked back in front of you. You untwisted your torso, hand instinctively feeling your neck for any signs of permanent damage. And then, Kylo Ren actually _sighed_. It was so foreign, any type of emotion (that wasn’t anger) coming from that vocoder. You wondered for a moment if he was an android, but decided that androids weren’t so prone to sudden fits of rage. He turned to you.

“Don’t you see? Or are you entirely imbecilic? You’re the one in _my_ head.”

Oh.

You realized then that he knew as much about why this was happening as you did. A muddled feeling – part sympathy, and part righteous anger about how he was treating you like an insolent serf – sat on your chest.

“The way I see it,” you said, “This is bad for us both. Just. I don’t know. Go back in? Make it stop.” You looked at him, releasing the emotions from your face and offering the sincerest plea that you could. “Please?” You carded your fingers through your hair, feeling defeated and entirely out of your depth.

Kylo Ren sunk to his knees in front of you. You wished deeply, then, that he would take off the mask. Who was this person, who suddenly had access to your inner thoughts? What did he look like? Despite yourself, you wondered if he really did think you were so foolish, to care and think about things like you did. You loved people – and you really _did_ love feeding them, seeing their faces after a good meal. You didn’t get much of that, specifically, on Starkiller, but you fundamentally cared about what you did nonetheless. Was that so stupid? You wondered when the last time Kylo Ren himself had eaten a home-cooked meal was. It had probably been a long time.

Kylo Ren seemed to regard you for a moment. He reached a hand toward your face, before thinking better of it and drawing back. After a moment of staring at his knees, he reached back towards your face – this time with both hands – and settled each set of gloved fingers on your already pounding head. His thumbs rested on your temples, and you were acutely aware of his other fingers resting in your hair. You hadn’t noticed how large his hands were, because whenever you seemed to encounter them they were wrapped around your neck.

“I’m going to try to sever the connection.”

 _Obviously_ , you thought, and his hands tightened on your head in warning.

“Watch yourself,” said Kylo Ren.

Something occurred to you. “Wait,” you asked, “Is this going to hurt?”

“Probably.”

Before you could protest, a tsunami of pain washed over your head. This was far worse than when he had been searching in your mind the first time, because instead of looking for specific information – were you a spy, or weren’t you? – Kylo Ren was combing blanketly through your consciousness, searching for the psychic thread between you so he could cut it.

Strangely, you could see what he was looking at as he came across it in your mind. Everything from snippets of your childhood, to how your favorite pastry tasted when it was fresh from the oven, and just how hard you had worked to get to where you were in life popped in front of your eyes at lightspeed. But you saw all of it from behind a veil of pain. Your vision was fading, and it was all _too much_ – you were sure you would break if he didn’t stop soon, that by the time he extricated himself from your brain you’d be utterly mad. Your ears were ringing, as if you had been too close to a loud explosion, and the pain in your mind was funneling into one spot in the center of your head, directly between your ears.

Dimly, you were aware that you had begun to scream.

Then the world went black.

***

When you came to, you were back in your quarters. You tried to sit up, but the cloud of pain in your head forced you to lay back down. You were on top of your cot, still wearing your uniform. But you weren’t dead – how had you gotten back? The memory of the agony as Kylo Ren sifted through your mind was all you remembered. Had you somehow managed to stumble back here when he was done with you? It was possible. With dread, you considered another option: what if you had passed out and _he_ – you could barely even think his name – had _carried_ you here? He didn’t have the access code to your door, but considering who he was you figured he wouldn’t need it. _That_ thought was particularly mortifying, so you decided to put your faith in the former.

But, wait – had it worked? You spread out on your bed, allowing the pain to work its way through your head as you stared at the ceiling.

_Find something to focus on._

Damn it. Even if you couldn’t hear _his_ thoughts, Kylo Ren was still very much in your head. You hoped desperately that it really had worked. Maybe he had been successful, and the connection was severed. Perhaps he had left you here _because_ it had worked. Maybe you’d never have to deal with him again! You wouldn’t bother him, and he wouldn’t bother you. It seemed like a fair trade, and that way the only person you’d have to deal with was Hux.

You groaned at the thought of the General, flipping into the fetal position. You couldn’t seem to catch a break. Blindly reaching down to the floor, you picked up your datapad to check the time. It was late, but not very. So, you must have wandered back (been taken back?) to your quarters not long after you had lost consciousness. The perception of lost time was petrifying – like blacking out from too much drinking, but infinitely worse because you couldn’t explain why it had happened. Not exactly, at least. You ignored the unease in your gut and pulled up your inbox, already sure you wouldn’t be able to sleep more if you tried.

You now had two missed emails from Tanya – she was concerned that you hadn’t shown up for dinner, and had only grown more worried when she hadn’t heard from you. That was the second message. You laughed to yourself, alone in your room - and not with real joy – as you imagined what her face would look like if you told her what you had been through tonight. And with whom. You didn’t want to wake her, so you decided to just tell her at breakfast tomorrow that you had spent the evening catching up on sleep.

Surprisingly, there was no message from Hux. You had wondered if Kylo Ren had made up the line about the General being needed elsewhere as part of a ruse to get you alone, but if that were true… He would have needed to _hear_ your thoughts about the General in order to find where you were on the ship. Maybe he had just been looking for Hux and it was blind luck that you happened to be talking to the General at the same time. However, inside yourself you felt the sinking feeling of an unconfirmed – but real – truth: that Kylo Ren had used the connection between the two of you to track you. Like an animal. You combated the feeling of powerlessness this thought gave you by reminding yourself that you had at least gotten out of both encounters alive, but it was a humble consolation.

Under both of Tanya’s messages, and beneath a few confirmation emails from suppliers (and it was a “no,” on the brown sugar, with a firm note stating that you weren’t to ask again) there was a message from a handle you didn’t recognize. It was just a random jumble of numbers, with no identifying initials like your own. You didn’t credit your intuition for cluing you into who it was from – at this point, anything unexplainable in your formerly-boring life could be blamed directly on Kylo Ren.  

_Bucket head._

You opened the message, and sure enough – it was from him, the raging toddler who had taken up residence in your psyche. He didn’t even bother addressing it to you directly – no greeting, no names. It wasn’t like you expected him to write “ _Dear Lieutenant, my most valued of colleagues_ ,” but the guy couldn’t seem to be bothered to acknowledge you were human. As it was, the message itself was only two words:

_Attempt unsuccessful._

Beneath it, a room number was listed – not far from your own room, actually, along with tomorrow’s date, and a time. You inferred what he meant. It hadn’t worked, after all. Fuck – did that mean he was _still_ hearing you? – and tomorrow night you were supposed to, of your own volition, meet Kylo Ren so he could wring your head out like a rag. Again.

You briefly considered noncompliance, but you wanted the connection broken, too. Possibly even more than he did. You really didn’t have anything to hide, but, still. What if you were stupid enough to think about something embarrassing? Something like –

Oh, no. You took _that_ thought, shoved it in a box, and buried it as deep in your mind as you could.

_Find something to focus on._

So, you’d be there tomorrow night after all. You had to break the connection – you just had to. You weren’t sure how long you could keep your one secret – if you could really call it that – from surfacing in your mind, and you needed to make sure that Kylo Ren was out of your head before that happened.  

Just peachy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter updates in as many days? 
> 
> You guys must understand the reality of the situation by now - I have no life. Either that, or I'm still riding the magnificent high of two-and-a-half hours of brand new, sparkly Kylo Ren in TLJ. It's probably both. Either way, I'm loving the inspiration. I feel like I've got my groove for writing "my" version of Kylo Ren now, but I still struggle a lot with his character. He's a complicated dude, poor little one. 
> 
> Anyway, things get nasty in the next chapter, so strap in and get ready for a rating increase. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ As always, I appreciate any constructive criticism or comments you guys have for me.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh, Spaghetti-O. You didn't mean to think of that.

You moved through the next day as if it were chilled molasses.

Breakfast with Tanya seemed to take eons. Thankfully, she accepted your excuse about why you hadn’t met her for dinner with alarming ease. She had simply smiled and said she was grateful you had finally gotten some rest. Her faith in your honesty made you feel even worse about lying to her, since she had clearly taken you at your word. You justified it with a queasy heart – the situation with Hux seemed increasingly benign in comparison to the bind you found yourself in with Kylo Ren, which felt like it was rapidly spiraling out of your control. Besides, it wasn’t like you could tell her about The Kylo Thing, even if you wanted to. You had a hunch that divulging any information about that would result in both you and Tanya being skewered at the end of certain someone’s lightsaber.

Truthfully, you would have preferred to spend the whole day in bed. You had only been able to sneak in a few hours of fitful sleep after Kylo Ren’s most recent jaunt into your mind, and you needed the rest. Not only that, but you had a hypothesis that he couldn’t hear your thoughts when you were asleep. At least you hoped he couldn’t – attempting to control your thoughts was grueling enough. It wasn’t like you could monitor your dreams, too. The idea of spending the whole day resting, however – _alone_ in your own mind _–_ sounded heavenly. You had only shown up at your office to play defense in case Hux came looking for you after getting the brush off the day before.

You ended up spending whole day essentially twiddling your thumbs – you had gotten ahead on your bureaucratic minutia earlier in the week and didn’t end up getting any referrals from Medbay, which left your schedule mostly clear. It was only after you had wasted most of the day worrying about Kylo Ren – and what lengths he’d go to in order to abolish the involuntary connection between your minds – that you realized Hux wasn’t even _aboard_ Starkiller.

It seemed like Kylo Ren had actually been telling the truth when he had summoned Hux to the Bridge the evening before. You had mindlessly opened your inbox only to see that the slew of previous memos from the General were all displayed in flashing red text, indicating that he was currently unavailable for correspondence. If it were anyone else, the red font could mean the person was on sick leave (or worse, on report), but this in Hux’s case it nearly always meant he was attending to business somewhere other than Starkiller.

 _Goddamn it_ , you thought, letting your forehead smack onto your desk, _I really could have been sleeping._

You rolled your eyes, frustration coming off your shoulders in waves. At least you could leave now. Thankfully, the closing duties for your office were fairly succinct, and you were trudging back to your quarters ten minutes after you realized that Hux was not your problem – at least for now.

As you walked, you stared blankly at your datapad, rereading the simple message from Commander Ren that you’d read at least fifty times since you received it last night. At this point, it was compulsive – you had a delusional fantasy that the message would disappear if you looked often enough, absolving you of your responsibility to show up and have possibly the most mercurial person you had ever met rearrange things in your head. But no matter how many times you checked, the message remained the same.

With only a few hours until Kylo Ren was expecting you, your stomach was tied in a hopeless knot. Eating was _definitely_ out of the question, considering how you felt like pythons were twisting in your gut. _If I start to waste away_ , you thought – loudly – _it’s going to be your fault_. It was the first time you had actively thought _at_ Kylo Ren, and you hoped he heard you. _Dick._

Sleep deprivation was obviously robbing you of your will to live.

Back in your quarters, you had nothing to do but kill time. You took a shower, turning the knob to the hottest setting and resting your forearms on the wall in front of you to let the water beat the knots out of your back. The water always turned off automatically after ten minutes – another perk of military life – but at least it was hot.

When you were dressed again, this time in a fresh uniform, you sat on your cot and… waited. Staring at the wall, you felt bubbles of worry begin to surface in your chest. And there – in the back of your head – you could feel what you were _absolutely, 100% NOT thinking about_ threatening to rise from the little mental box you had shoved it in. You sighed and hung your head in your hands, repeating the mantra that you’d been trying to use anytime you felt your mind wander.

_I’m fine. This is fine. Not thinking. Not thinking. Not fine. No! This is fine. Not thinking about-_

Well, that wasn’t working. But, if you had the choice between annoying Kylo Ren with your personal thoughts or boring him, you preferred to bore him. You had an old reference text you used to study with on your datapad, and you pulled it up on your screen. The words were familiar – a comfort – and for a moment you could pretend you were cramming for your next exam instead of trying to deflect a telepathic man with the power to crush your skull.

You wondered why you hadn’t thought of this before – if he was going to hear your thoughts (and he still really hadn’t explained how much he was hearing from you, much to your frustration) – then the thoughts might as well be someone _else’s_ words. You read, not really processing anything, until it was five minutes before you were supposed to meet him.

Well, no sense in being late to your own execution.

***

You checked – for the third time – that the door you were in front of was the correct one. No matter what you did, the numbers matched up correctly. This was the place. The only differentiating features from this door and your own was the size – it was this as big as yours of yours, plus half – and the lack of a control panel. If these were Kylo Ren’s quarters, you guessed he wouldn’t need (or want) an easy way for anyone besides himself to enter. Did the guy seriously just use the Force for everything? The question was, if these were his quarters – then what in the fuck were _you_ doing here?

Were you supposed to knock? Would that draw too much attention to yourself? Anything had to be better than standing in the hallway worrying about your own fate. So, you opted for the quieter option. You could always knock if he didn’t answer. You swallowed your pounding heart, and reached out – to what, exactly, you weren’t sure. _Um_ , you thought, _I’m here?_

Immediately, the door opened with a hiss. Great. He _had_ heard you. You stepped inside, and the door shut again behind you as quickly as it had opened. You ended up with your back pressed to the cold durasteel with the – probably foolish – hope that Kylo Ren at least wouldn’t be able to sneak up on you like this. It was clear now that these were indeed his quarters. Everything was black, clean. Sterile. You were standing in the entrance hallway, which terminated ten yards from you with large door. You assumed this was a bedroom, given its location. That was, if Kylo Ren slept. Two smaller rooms branched off on either side of the hall, closed hatches obscuring any view you might have had inside.

But there was no Kylo Ren.

Ice shot through your veins as your mind spun out, considering every eventuality that could happen with you so isolated. Trapped. Again.

You had almost begun to hyperventilate when the door nearest to you on the right whooshed opened, the implication clear. Seemingly of their own accord, your feet carried you toward it, and you entered – greeted as you were each time by the powerful presence of Kylo Ren before you actually saw him.

He was… sitting. You were taken aback. Despite your better judgement, your curiosity got the better of you and you glanced quickly around the room, steadfastly avoiding looking at him. How did the other half live, anyway?

It looked like a kind of sitting room, clean and minimally furnished, and what furniture was there was – you guessed it – black. You wondered if the colorway was a personal choice, or merely what was given to higher-ranking personnel. A massive viewing screen, turned off, was mounted on opposite wall, an opaque panel separating the half of the room the two of you were in from whatever was behind it. Kylo Ren was sitting on a long, black couch with a low back that spanned each half of the divider. The only other furniture in the room was an oblong table, which he sat behind, with two black chairs in front of it.

This… was weird.

Unable to bear the tension or the silence, you finally looked directly at Kylo Ren, who had been silent and still since you had entered. He was front-and-center behind the table, hood raised over the now-familiar helmet. His elbows were resting casually on the table, gloved fingers tented. For the first time, you were able to notice the small details about him. Well, about his clothes. You noticed the ridges on his sleeves, and the way the textured hood folded and rested on his broad shoulders. Even sitting down, the way he _was_ – the way he commanded every inch of space in the room, was intimidating. Even still, this was a huge change from his usual M.O. of standing as uncomfortably close to you as possible, and you were having trouble making sense of the shift.

“So,” you began, drawing the “o” out as you searched with futility for the right words. He slowly raised an index finger to the snout of his mask, shushing you.

“Be quiet,” he said.

You fell silent, not feeling like being choked tonight.

“You need to relax,” Kylo Ren continued, rising from his seat and coming to stand in front of you.  

That was not what you had expected him to say.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. Your mind was blank, synapses firing on overdrive as they simply tried to process everything that was going on in this current moment. No room for future tripping when the present was trippy enough.

“Um, okay?” You replied lamely, reaching up and nervously tucking one of your errant hairs behind your ear.

Suddenly, the spell of the utter _strangeness_ of the situation was broken by your thirst for answers. You blurted your questions in a quick stream, heedless of what would happen if you actually got the answers. “Wait, what _happened_ last night? And _how_ did I get back to my quarters?”

By the time you stopped talking, you found that you had talked yourself closer to Kylo Ren in your anger, as if standing closer to him would somehow coerce him into answering you. “Sir,” you added, an afterthought.

Kylo Ren motioned to the couch. You looked at him, shaking your head. He leaned down until his mask was looming over your face. An echo of the first time you met, his gloved hand reached up, a single digit shifting your chin until you were forced to look into the gleaming visor of his mask.

“Still petulant.” He sounded almost amused, but there was a hard edge to it that betrayed how unused to being disobeyed he was. Your ego cringed.

“I am _not_ ‘petulant,’” you sniffed, doing your best to keep your gaze steely as your palms began to sweat. He just made you so fucking nervous. 

“Go.” Kylo Ren straightened, pointing at the couch. “Go lay down over there.”

 _Fine_ , you thought, loudly and not particularly kindly. You considered shooting him a glare, but thought better of it. You remembered your goal for the evening – to leave these quarters free from Kylo Ren’s grip on your mind, alive and _not choked_. You walked backwards, though, keeping your eyes glued to his still figure. When the back of your legs bumped into the couch – you had managed not to run into the table in your rookie attempt to intimidate him in return – you sat down slowly. Your heart began hammering against your ribcage as you slowly allowed yourself to lie on the couch, your spine stiff and your knees raised. Your arms were limp by your sides, and you were unsure what to do with your hands, which were clenched into fists.

You had, perhaps, never been so uncomfortable. And considering the absurd turn your life had taken in the past week, that was saying something. You kept your eyes glued to Kylo Ren, who hadn’t moved since he had last spoken. It appeared that he was intending to stay where he was – five feet from you, radiating his strong energy and keeping annoyingly silent.

Finally, he spoke.

“You _literally_ need to relax.” The modulated voice was flat; instructive.  “Relax your hands. Close your eyes.”

Why, why, why? You didn’t like the idea of not being able to see what was happening, so you were halfway obedient, taking a deep breath and letting your hands uncurl but leaving your eyes open.

“Close. Them.”

You did, then, Kylo Ren’s figure disappearing as you forced your eyes closed and allowed your head to rest fully on the seat of the couch.

“Keep them closed.”

You could hear the soft tread of his footsteps then – light on his feet for someone so large – and a shift as he sat beside you on the couch. You peeked one eye open, and from your upside-down vantage point you could see him, looking at you and sitting a healthy distance away from your head.

“Keep them-”

“Closed, I know!” You finished, complying with another sigh and folding your arms across your chest. Why were you supposed to be okay with this? Every time you’d seen Kylo Ren before, he’d either tried to choke you to death or given you the mother-of-all-headaches after digging through your mind. You weren’t feeling very generous.

“I’ll say it again, because you’re clearly a very poor listener. You. Need. To. Relax.” Kylo Ren said, modulated voice rolling over the words. “Because when you’re so _repellently_ anxious, it’s impossible to break the connection. It gets buried in your emotions.”

Your eyes were dancing behind your eyelids as you fought to keep them closed. You hadn’t considered that. For the first time, you made a real effort to follow his instructions, breathing deeply and willing yourself to fuse with the couch and disappear. Your heart rate slowed slightly, and you felt at least minutely calmer.

“Good.” His voice sounded – not pleased – but perhaps gratified that you were at least doing what he said.

“Why am I here?”

“You’re a loud screamer-”

You winced, remembering the crushing weight of pain that you had felt last night as Kylo Ren had attempted to sever the connection. With your eyes closed, you could almost see it – the crimson pain washing over you, flooding your mind and freezing your body until you couldn’t hold it in anymore, and you were screaming-

“-And it’s soundproofed in here.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t scream so loud if _you didn’t hurt me so fucking badly_.”

You felt Kylo Ren lean over you then, scooching next to you on the couch. You could tell his face was inches from your own, the warbled sound of his breath leaking from the modulator. The energy coming from him had been more subdued, at first – you were starting to think that the calmer he was, the less he sort of… crackled – but now it flared, the hairs on your arms raising as it wrapped around you.

“Talking like that will get you intro trouble. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Ugh. You were tired of this game. You were tired of watching your thoughts, your actions, and your feelings – trying to cater to someone who obviously hated you. Opening your eyes, you stared into Kylo Ren’s visor and bargained.

“I know, I know. Close them. Are you going to try again?”

Kylo Ren pulled his face away from you, waiting. He was silent, until you closed your eyes once more.

“Breathe deeply. Relax. Then I will.”

This was it, then. You breathed deeply, feeling your chest rise and fall. You felt the weight of your feet on the cushion of the seat, imagining yourself fusing with the fabric until you were covered by it. Here, in your mind, was where you used to feel safe. You wanted that back. It was possible to relax, if only slightly, with the hope that your previous panic was what had been getting in the way of your freedom. When you had been breathing deeply for a while, you felt a cool, gloved hand rest on your temple. It was gently, but that was clearly pragmatic on Kylo Ren’s part. He was obviously doing his best not to freak you out, and that allowed you to still yourself as fully as you could.

When you felt him push into your mind, you were astounded that it… didn’t hurt. It was uncomfortable without being agonizing, and you felt a shred of relief. There was pressure, like water rushing through the spaces in your mind and filling them up. _Breathe._ You could feel him searching, the flow of the Force coming from Kylo Ren seeking the terminating point in your head where you were connected. As long as he didn’t get lost along the way, as long as he didn’t find-

The pressure changed then, the flow of energy consolidating into a single stream. He was looking for something. And you knew what it was he would find when he got there. Because there were some things you knew to be true. You knew that if tea steeped too long, it would lose its flavor. That was true. You knew that three-times-three was nine. That was true, too. You also knew it to be true that if a person was trying actively not to think of something, then they would find it almost impossible _not_ to think about it. 

When Kylo Ren found the box in your head, the one you had tried so hard to find, you tried – and failed - to push him out. In your mind, you watched with horror as he flipped the box over, the contents spilling out like an overturned toy chest. Holy fucking fuck, this was bad.

Maybe hiding all of your most acute sexual fantasies away in a specific mental container hadn’t been the best idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH! Plot! Cliffhanger! And no porn like I alluded to last chapter. :( You guys have my permission to kick me. But I pinkie swear you're getting the good stuff next time.
> 
> I figured that you guys would prefer a chapter update now that wasn't totally what you were expecting rather than having to wait til' after the 25th. It's been a crazy time of year - in the space of two weeks, there's my boyfriend's birthday, Christmas, the New Year, and then my birthday. So with all the associated family stuff/obligations/running around, I'm doing my best to update this as often as possible. What I can say is that it'll never be more than a week, and you get chapters as soon as I finish them. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks as always for being so crazy sweet to me, you guys. I love writing this for you and your comments crack me up. If you do December holidays - or even if you don't - I hope you have a magnificent time, full of light and laughter, and eat some good food. <3 
> 
> xoxo


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